


Holly's Fortune

by valderys



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Community: hobbit_smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-24
Updated: 2010-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:53:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/pseuds/valderys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which it's not Merry who thinks too much, for once…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holly's Fortune

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 'Beneath the Mistletoe' Challenge in 2004. There is a sequel, [Happiness. Ever After?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/89605).

It had to have been at Yule, with absolutely every single hobbit of their acquaintance there. Of course. Inevitable really. How else could it have been made more painful? Almost as if that had been the point.

Of course, I'm sure it wasn't intended to be that way. They had chosen Yuletide for their nuptials because they had met at the previous Yule celebrations, and it was a sentimental gesture on their part, a not-so-private declaration, almost a fond in-joke. And, of course, it was a particularly good time to be inviting half the Shire to the Smials, for at least half again of the same hobbits would have been coming for the festivities anyway.

They offered a good spread, I'll give them that. Paladin certainly did not stint anything at his only son's wedding, but then why would he? It was a joyous time, and he was getting twice the value from the vittles and ale, after all; once as Winterfeast fare and then once more gracing the marriage table. Oh yes, the Thain was cheerful indeed.

And Eglantine was happy too. Diamond was a pretty thing, I have to admit, and quite biddable. Dainty even for a hobbit lass, and cheerful as the day is long. So I can understand what Pippin saw in her, and certainly his mother was pleased, unsure as she must have been about the tugs of power there could have been between two strong females fighting for their own domain. But in Diamond, Eglantine seemed to have acquired the perfect daughter-in-law; tractable, worshipping and sweet. Enough to make you sick really.

I watched it all happen, you see, and it was like watching a slow and disastrous avalanche as it inevitably builds up speed and pressure, until the momentum sends it tipping and sliding and pounding down on anyone unlucky enough to be caught beneath. Not, of course, that anyone else saw it that way – not even the groom. But then, why would he? Pippin's eyes were blinded by lustrous dark curls, a winsome smile, and diamond bright eyes. It was the happiest day of his life, and he had no wish or inclination to spare a glance for anyone else.

But I did.

You see, after the Troubles, it didn't take any time at all for most of us to get right back down to the business of living – working hard, or not so hard, supping ale in the evenings, swapping stories and jokes, sharing gossip. If it wasn't for all the new young trees in the Shire, you might think that the Troubles had never happened. But that's only for most of us. I don't even blame them – it's not in a hobbit's nature to dwell on strife, and why should we? There are apples to pick, and land to till, and, well, any one of a hundred different jobs to be thinking about, rather than thinking about dark times in the past, thankfully long banished to a few pages in the history books, or recorded on the rolls of the family tree.

But that's for most of us. Then there are the other hobbits, the hobbits who can't quite forget, those of us who don't want to dwell on things, but nonetheless somehow find ourselves on the edges of the crowd, or supping our ale alone, or finding that the apples taste like ash in our mouths. I don't mean to sound self-pitying for certainly no one is to blame for such things. It's just that some hurts run too deep, I think. I heard dear Frodo say that once before he sailed away across the sea, but I didn't understand it then as I do now. Some hurts run too deep.

You know, there was once a time when I used to really enjoy a good party. I wasn't perhaps the first person to be invited, not the life and soul of any gathering, sprinkling the throng with witty sayings or drawing everyone into roaring laughter with my jokes. No, I wasn't that kind of guest. But I'd like to think I was the second or third chap people thought of, full of good cheer, and amiable to a fault. I ate my fill, and then maybe a little extra – more perhaps than was quite polite if I had any great flaw. But as it gave me the fine figure I was known for, and the lasses never seemed to mind the extra padding, or the lads either, I wore my nickname 'Fatty' with pride, and congratulated myself on being a fine figure of a hobbit.

It's silly what one looks back on, isn't it? I'm Freddy now, to everyone, not Fatty any more, but I still miss him. That carefree hobbit who thought a hard decision was to pick out a shirt to go with a new waistcoat, or a nosegay to go a-courting with. It still makes me smile to think of him, for after all, it's not Fatty's fault that everything changed.

Sorry. I'm sorry. I must remember not to think about it. The darkness in the corners of the room begins to creep up on me if I'm not careful. And the whispering starts, and always in _his_ voice… And then I start to remember the pain…

Anyway. I don't want to dwell on my troubles, I don't like to talk about it at all really, I just want you to understand why I was sitting at the edge of the nuptial feast, sipping my tea, but not really involved. It meant I could watch, you see? Watch and really understand what was happening, watch that avalanche I mentioned build and build, until at last it fell.

The Grand Hall had been decorated for Yule, of course, all the old paintings covered in holly and evergreens, a bunch of mistletoe over the door. Very festive it looked, if I do say so myself. The Yule log had been set up near the fireplace, and that was decorated as well, with ivy and bay and sweet-smelling rosemary. It would make a fine show when it burned on the morrow, and all the guests had made sure they touched it for luck and had tucked a sprig of holly under it as a charm for the new year to come. I hadn't made up my mind whether to do so or not, it seemed a poor hope to me, as I had never noticed any difference in my fortunes in a year in which I had offered a sprig of holly, from those in which I hadn't.

But then I saw him come in, a little diffidently for him, which was unusual enough for me to notice it. And then he stood in front of the Yule log and didn't move, a sprig of holly twisting in his fingers, and reluctance tugging at his face, as though he didn't know whether he wished for a good year or not. I would have hailed him then, for we were still good friends although perhaps not as close as in the past. Frodo's leaving, and his move to Crickhollow, and then his increasing family duties kept him and Pippin much occupied, I knew. But there was something in his face, it held me there, arrested and unsure. It seemed wrong to disturb him, somehow, as though I was intruding. Which is a strange thing for any friend to think, is it not?

And then, whether I wanted to say anything or not was beside the point, as Pippin caught sight of him and called out a cheerful greeting. It was as though a mask was being dropped into place, not a best friend turning to greet his old comrade, and he hurriedly tucked the holly beneath the log, almost as though he was ashamed of it, and turned to clap Pippin on the back and tease him about his last hours of freedom, and did he realise it still wasn't too late? I wondered then. Wondered what he wished for, here in the darkest days, here at the turning of the year, and then felt guilty for being so suspicious.

But it made me watch him. Not just as a friend, but as a fellow sufferer, left behind as flotsam from the dregs and swirls of history. Almost I felt him to be a kindred spirit then, for us wounded ones can recognise each other, I find. He must have made a good show of it up 'til now, for I had not seen a sign of such unhappiness until today, but that Yule, the mask slipped a little, and what remained was paper thin, for those that had the wit to see it.

The day moved on then, the crowd of hobbits eventually becoming a cheerful chattering throng. Old friends and old enemies alike greeting each other with Yuletide cheer and hearty back-slapping, as befitted the occasion. I smiled to see Pippin's sisters all done up as bridesmaids in fluttering ribbons and lace, although all of them without fail were matrons with bairns of their own. But at this wedding, it seemed, they were transported back to the days of their maidenhood, and they giggled and simpered like tweenagers. It was all rather sweet really. And of course, I couldn't miss him, even in all this crowd. The Best Hobbit was there to support the groom, after all, to ensure the wedding went well, there to marry the bride himself in a pinch, if the groom was discovered to have cried off. And you may be sure I heard jokes aplenty offered to him that afternoon about such an eventuality, and you may be sure I watched his smile grow thin and strained, and I wondered a little at that too.

But, of course, he was the perfect gentlehobbit, and no-one could fault him in any part of his behaviour. If I had not seen the mask, if I had not seen his eyes grow hollow and shadowed when he had twirled that good luck holly, I would never have had any inkling of his thoughts on this occasion. He stood up with Pippin as a best friend and cousin should, as close by Pippin's side as I have ever seen him, and laughed with the rest when called upon, at the traditional jokes of the new Mayor Samwise, whose own ever-increasing family stood proof that he knew whereof he spoke. He hushed with all the others as Diamond began her stately journey down the aisle, and a pretty picture she made, with the family lace sheathing her body and the family jewels in her hair, and with her love for Pippin shining out of those bright eyes of hers. Pippin's lips parted in wonder as though he did not know how he came to be the luckiest hobbit alive, and the crowd oohed and ahhed as she approached, and nudged each other, and I knew then that this was one wedding day that would not be forgotten for many a year, the excellence of the spread all aside. But Diamond could only see Pippin, and from my edges, where I can only stand and look in on such happiness, I could feel their love like a warming golden glow all about them – such a silly sentimental description! But it was true. And then, for some reason – because I was curious, because I had been looking at him on and off all afternoon – I turned to look at him. At Merry. And that was perhaps the only other moment that the mask slipped, that his true feelings were echoed on his face, and then such shining pain glimmered forth that my heart twisted in time with his. But it was for such a fleeting second, such a momentary glimpsing thing, that I was not at all sure that I had even seen it, and I am certain that no other person saw it at all.

It strikes me now that we must have all been very blind. Such things they had shared, on their long journey away, so close as they had been when they came back – so tall and martial, so _changed_. Perhaps it was not so strange that other things had changed as well.

The ceremony went well, of course, all things considered. The usual maternal weeping, both from Eglantine and from Emerald, Diamond's mother. The usual exchange of vows, the usual tense, slightly anticipatory moment of silence when the Mayor calls forth anyone who knows of any just cause or impediment. I nearly looked at Merry then too, but managed to restrain myself, as I was certain his face would be as clear and guileless as a child's. Then the musicians in the corner got a little over-enthusiastic when they played the Wedding March to launch the happy couple back down the aisle, and enough grain was thrown to nearly render them insensible, until Pippin laughed, shook the rye out of his hair and called for dancing.

Well, that was enough to get the guests distracted, and it didn't take a twinkling of an eye to clear the chairs to the side, sweep the flags quickly and set up the Hall for a proper romp. Paladin protested that he wanted to have the speeches now, but Pippin overruled him, and said there was time enough for that kind of nonsense after dinner, with which sentiment I could see plenty more than just myself heartily agreeing. Couples came together, the musicians calmed down a little, and soon a partner dance was enthusiastically in progress, led, of course, by the couple of the hour, laughing as they dove between the upraised hands of their friends.

Of course, I was content to watch, as ever. I had never been much of a dancer, even before the Troubles, and now… Well, I find it's best not to dwell on things that are not meant to be.

Merry wasn't dancing either, which was perhaps a little unusual, but not that strange, given his responsibilities as Best Hobbit. I could see he had a piece of paper in his hands and seemed to be using it to fend off the various simpering lasses who just happened to be passing by, in the hopes of being asked to dance. Oh, being the only son of the Master of Buckland had its definite advantages, and my lips quirked mirthlessly as I caught an almost haunted cast to his expression. For it had its definite disadvantages too, as I could see that Merry knew.

It occurred to me then that I could help. Merry was still a friend, despite our distance, in miles and in our hearts, so I sidled over and leaned against the wall. I was almost in the shadow of an enormous Yule wreath hung above me, and so it was easy to wait until the latest eagerly charming social climber had been sent on her way, before I announced myself. In fact, it was downright gratifying to see him jump a little at my ever so laconic tones as I said,

"I can fetch a stick, Merry, if you want something to beat them off with."

He laughed a little at that, and my heart warmed, knowing I could still bring a smile to someone's face.

"No, no, Freddy, it's very kind of you, but I feel their parents may end up objecting to such rude treatment, and that would never do."

It bothered me that I knew how to take that smile away as well, but it didn't stop me either, and I wondered when I had become so cruel.

"Well, on such a happy occasion, I'm sure they would forgive you. Particularly if you were to offer to make one them Mistress of Buckland."

He kept smiling but I could see something… Something in his face changed, and then, well, I felt guilty. I should know better, after all. I pushed myself off the wall and threw an arm around his shoulders and steered him away from yet another manoeuvring lass and her mother, and towards the table where the wine was being mulled, and the ale barrels were being set up ready to be broached.

"Let me pour you a drink, my dear Merry, and I'll fend them off by my very presence, you know, and that will pay for all."

He spluttered a little, and protested that he didn't need such care, but for once I insisted, rather than fading back into the edges of the crowd, my surly conscience pricking me to effort. And it did seem that he was grateful, for I was as good as my word, and my strangeness did indeed seem to act as a deterrent, as I had hoped that it would. It also meant that we tapped almost the first ale of the day, and a mug or two of such brew certainly put the colour back in both our cheeks.

I eyed him then, as he stood with his hand in his waistcoat pocket and the mug raised to his lips, and abruptly I said, "You look like Bilbo."

He almost choked then – in surprise, I suppose, and I patted him on the back and apologised. He took his hand out of his pocket and looked at me for the first time today, it seemed, really looked at me.

"Why did you say that, Freddy?"

I shrugged, my tongue tied to the roof of my mouth, and clumsy with ale. How could I say he looked wistful, like old Bilbo had used to do, before he disappeared, and secretive, as though he held the world in his hand?

"I don't know. What have you got in your pocket?"

His smile twisted a little then, and he drew forth the paper he'd been brandishing earlier.

"It's my speech. All about the times Pippin and I have shared, a few carefully chosen anecdotes. Effusive thanks to the parents of the bride and groom for such a wonderful day. Yuletide wishes and a toast to the happy couple. You know the sort of thing."

I looked at the folded square.

"It's very small."

He laughed then, great choking gasps of it, and clutched my shoulder, until it hitched and broke into something suspiciously like a sob. I found my arms around him, almost without me willing them to be there, and his face was hidden in my coat. But he wept quietly, and I found I admired that. Almost as though he was used to doing so, as I was not, and I was grateful that I could pretend to strength in that moment, and offer shelter, as his tightly checked emotions fell on him at last, a sudden avalanche indeed.

I took a quick glance around. The fiddlers were still making an awful racket, and almost everyone was clapping along with the tune. One or two servants were eyeing us, but not strangely, Merry had been laughing until a moment ago, and I thought they would be fooled by the occasion and the ale, if we were quick. Hurriedly I steered us both to the nearest door, fumbling with the handle in my haste, but eventually succeeded in drawing it open and ourselves within in short order. A musty smell enveloped us, mothballs and a touch of mildew, the scent of dirty wool. A cloak room.

There was a shifting broken glow coming from the skylight, sunset showing rose pink, and diffuse orange, a last gaudy show before night fell, and I blinked in the patterned dimness, and wondered that it still seemed to be so early.

Awkwardly I patted him on the back and said, "Here now. My fault. Feeding you ale on an empty stomach. I should know better. And you the Best Hobbit too. Can't be having that now…"

Pushing aside some of the cloaks, I found a bench beneath, and then I led us both to it, all the while murmuring nonsense under my breath, feeling helpless, feeling as useless as ever. Oh yes, fine help you turned out to be, Freddy Bolger, as broken and damaged as you are. You shouldn't be allowed near normal hobbits, that's what I had decided long before, shouldn't be allowed to upset them, to disturb them like this…

But Merry was silent now, still with his face hidden in my coat, and I carried on patting him, and rubbing my hand in small soothing circles on his back, like I remembered doing long ago for 'Stella, when she woke from a nightmare and needed her big brother there to scare away the monsters. And that was a memory I hadn't thought about in an awfully long time.

Eventually he raised his face, and his eyes were dry. Only a little pinkness remained around the nose to indicate there had ever been anything amiss at all.

"I'm sorry, Freddy, and thank you," he said, as calm as though passing the time of day, and my hand froze in its place, before I took them both and folded them in my lap, where they wouldn't cause any more trouble.

"You're welcome, I'm sure," I said, carefully and precisely.

He looked at me then, sly, sidelong, and I stared wordlessly back.

"You were right, you know. Just too much ale. And…" He took a deep breath that I'm sure he thought I wouldn't see, "Such an emotional occasion. Stupid of me, really."

"If you say so," I muttered, stung a little, despite myself. After all, I was the only one here – the only one – who understood. Or thought I had. It seemed an evening for stupidity.

"We should go back then," I offered, "Before they miss us."

"Yes," he said. But he didn't move.

The silence stretched then, and I watched dust motes dance in the last of the evening's light. I wondered who he was trying to fool. Not me, surely – perhaps he was thinking about all those cheerful hobbits we had left dancing, the oblivious crowd of over-eager relatives, the plentiful visitors, the many friends. Or maybe he was just thinking about him. About Pippin. Perhaps he was thinking about how little Pippin would be thinking about him in return.

I looked at him and caught him eyeing me as well. His dismissal of my stupid act of kindness had made me feel my bitterness once more. My aloneness. My loneliness, if truth be told, and abruptly I found I hated him for that.

"It doesn't get easier, you know," I said suddenly, my voice harsh and strange in my ears, "They tell you it will but it doesn't. So you shouldn't expect it to."

He looked surprised, as well he might, but he didn't look confused. Good, I thought viciously, it's just as well you know now. So you won't make me feel sorry for you again, so you won't make me feel at all any more. It hurts too much.

"Freddy…"

"I was Fatty once. Do you remember when I was Fatty, Merry? Before everything changed. Do you remember when everything changed, Merry? Do you?"

His voice was low and softly broken, "I remember."

"But you were off in the world, having adventures, facing your own monsters. With Pippin. You weren't here. So how could you know?"

He glanced swiftly away and then back, his face showing his unease, his eyes revealing his skipping thoughts. "We carry our monsters with us, Freddy. It doesn't matter where we are. And they have sharp teeth. So I do know."

"Yes, they do, don't they? And now, you have to face that you're just as alone in the world as the rest of us. Despite all the adventures. Despite it all. And isn't that just grand? We'll go back in and smile and smile, and no-one will ever guess how much it hurts. Will they, Merry?"

He shook his head then, his face twisted horribly, and I realised he was trying to grin. But he wouldn't have fooled a soul if they had seen him at that moment, and my heart skipped a beat. Suddenly I felt desperately sorry that instead of comforting him as I had intended to do, I had damaged him somehow. Torn the mask. Because I was hurting and in pain, and I had wanted to see him hurting too. And that seemed unforgivable.

So I did what I could. I leant forward and I kissed him.

His lips were soft and tasted of cinnamon and pipeweed, and he breathed out into my mouth on a little surprised exhale, even as I pressed him back into the coats and scarves on the wall behind us. The beer we had drunk was almost coppery on my tongue, I noticed, and the brocade of his waistcoat was rough under my hand as I leaned in, pushing into his mouth as insistently as I dared. I wondered what he'd do. It had seemed obvious to me in that moment, an offer he couldn't mistake, an apology I couldn't ruin with clumsy or sharp words, but perhaps I had made a different kind of mistake. Perhaps I had misjudged what he had lost with Pippin, or had never had at all. Perhaps this was my own foolish notion, and Merry was going to be horrified by my presumption. Perhaps…

I pulled back. His eyes were wide and startled, dark as clouds across the moon, and there was a sheen of moisture just wetting his lower lip. I'd done that, I thought, dazed but unrepentant. My gaze followed his tongue as he licked at it, and a jolt of heat followed the movement, true heat, warming me as nothing else had for a long time now. Perhaps I should have thanked him for that at least, for the ability to feel desire again, if nothing else.

Then before I could apologise, or even really think through what I could say, he lunged across the small gap that remained between us and suddenly he was kissing me. Frantically, wildly; our mouths slipping and sliding in our haste, devouring each other whole, as desperate as though something would come between us, would stop us, or as though we had no time left, no time at all. His hands were in my hair, gripping hard, almost hurting, but I didn't care, this was all that mattered, all that I cared about in the world, and if a whole hoard of aged relatives had come trooping through accompanied by the Tuckborough Brass Band, I don't think I would have paid attention, or even noticed.

I slid along the bench until our thighs pressed together, and I pulled him further round to face me. He was panting now, short harsh breaths, and biting at my lips, at my throat. I groaned as each almost-painful nip sent messages down in shivers along my limbs, to pool in heat at my groin. My hands roamed impatiently over his back and under his waistcoat, the rich material prickling at my fingers, and the dry heat of him drawing me to his skin like a moth to a candle. I found the waistband of his trousers and eagerly pulled at his shirt until it came free. And then… Oh, skin like silk, like satin, like velvet over hard muscle, tensing and shifting under my questing fingers. It had been so long. So very long.

Merry groaned then, as I kneaded at him in my urgency, as I pushed beneath the cloth of his trousers to cup his arse, what I could reach of it, and dug my fingers in. This wasn't enough, not yet, not yet. It was all going so fast, too fast perhaps, and I might regret that later, but right now I didn't want to stop. Hurriedly I slid off the bench and onto my knees, dragging my hands around, still tucked into his waistband, and as I pulled them free brushed the unmistakable bulge that his trousers did nothing to hide. He gasped, and I bit my lip, the broken sound causing me an overwhelming reaction of my own – the sense of power heady and sweet. I wanted him to make more of those sounds, I wanted him to beg for it, to call my name, to remember me, Freddy Bolger, to remember me. I wanted him to see me across a room and remember this; at parties, or banquets, at harvest, and even perhaps to blush, just a little. To have someone that recognised me, that acknowledged I existed, to have something that meant I didn't disappear into a crowded room over and over again…

His buttons slipped free easily and his small clothes were easily pushed aside, but I took a breath before moving on. He stood as proud as other lads I had known, but it had been such a long time, that I almost hesitated. Thinking. I was thinking too much again. This was no time for thinking. I plunged my head down and took the whole of him into my mouth at once, greedily, with no preliminaries at all. Merry bucked, knocking his head against the wall, and digging his nails into my scalp, and I nearly did us both an injury. I grasped his thighs tightly then, and held him fast, as I began to move, slowly at first, as I remembered my way, and then faster, sucking and licking, dizzy with the pleasure of control. At the end of each stroke I swirled my tongue around and dug my fingers harder into his thighs as he tried to thrust, not wanting to be choked, and wanting to feel him push back, greedy for the sensation. I wondered if he would have marks there tomorrow and found I hoped he would. My vehemence only shocked me for an instant.

Then I nearly choked for a different reason as one broad foot curled round my thigh, tightened and then pulled, nearly dragging me off balance. I must admit, I stopped what I was doing, and Merry made a little mewling noise of frustration until I started again, braced this time, with my knees apart. It seemed as though this was all Merry needed, perhaps brought to realise my own woeful state even through the haze of his own arousal, for his other foot came curling around the front of me, until it rested, warm and heavy, against my own need. Such delicious friction! Even as his toes curled and flexed, rubbing at the fabric of my trousers, I redoubled my efforts, not to be outdone, and knowing I was so very close that I wouldn't need much more, and neither, if I was any judge, would Merry.

I would like to say that we came together, but that would not be true, not quite. He made a sort of double gasp, that could have been my name, as he pulsed into my mouth, and I wondered if I would have any hair left at the end of this, but I also found that I didn't really care. My own peak was pushing at me, and I had just the presence of mind to reach down and loosen my own trousers a little, and let him slip, softening, from my mouth, before I was overcome. I cried out a little I think, but I muffled it in Merry's lap, all salt and damp heat, and I bit at his leg, which he didn't seem to mind. And then it was all over.

I kept my face hidden for long seconds, my nose itchy where it rubbed against the wool of his trousers, but feeling too vulnerable and too shaky to move. My knees were starting to hurt from the flagstones, that were really far too cold and hard for this sort of activity, but that I hadn't thought to soften with even a coat. And I found I didn't want to look at Merry, not now. I didn't want to see what he really thought, I didn't want to watch the distance in his eyes open up again, now our immediate needs had been satisfied. I certainly didn't want to see the disappointment shadowed there that I wasn't someone else, particularly on this day of all days.

Then I felt fingers in my hair again, but gentle this time, soothing. They teased out unseen tangles, and smoothed through my unruly curls, before lightly cupping the back of my head in a fragile caress. Oh, it's always the small things that undo a person, isn't it? Tenderness. I hadn't expected that. I don't know why.

Later still, when at last I raised my head, the first thing he did was hand me his handkerchief. The second thing he did was offer a glimmering smile, nearly as fragile as his touch on my hair, that I returned, a little tremulously. I scrubbed at my reddened face before cleaning up elsewhere, refastening my trousers and pushing myself to a slumped boneless heap on the bench. He did himself up as well, then slid over a little until he bumped my shoulder in a companionable fashion. I shoved back slightly, just to show him I knew he was there, and we sat quietly watching the last of the sun turn into the magenta and purple of twilight.

Friends. I remembered then what it's like to have friends. People who don't just love you because they must, like family, but people who love you because they choose to. Because they know you, and they like you, and they may even understand you, if you're lucky, but even if they don't they still stick by you. Merry reminded me that day how friendship feels. Friendship and maybe a little more. I think I needed that. But I think that Merry needed it even more.

Eventually, when the light had grown so dim that Merry was only the faintest outline against the darker wall, I turned my head a little and said, "Do you think we should go back?"

I could barely make him out, but his voice was warm and rough, and had its edge of humour back. It made me smile. "Do you think they've even noticed that we've gone?"

"Well, I doubt one guest more or less has made any difference, but I should think they might eventually notice that the Best Hobbit has vanished."

"You think so?" I thought he sounded wistful then rather than joking, and I dithered for a moment between feeling supportive, and feeling jealous, before realising that it didn't really matter. A quick fumble in the cloakroom was hardly going to cure all the problems brought on by today, but I had helped a little, I thought. I had helped. I groped for his hand in the darkness, and then grasped it firmly and squeezed.

"Of course. After all, Pippin's your best friend."

His hand twitched but I held on doggedly.

"Some things change, Merry, but I'm sure that he'll always be that. You'll always have shared the things you've shared, the adventures, the memories…"

"Facing the monsters?"

I laughed a little in relief at his lighter tone. "If you like."

"I know that, Freddy. But it's not the same."

"Nothing ever is," I offered, finding myself bitterly wondering if that would still be true after today. If things would be different, or whether I would go back to drifting through my life like a ghost at the feast. And then he squeezed my hand in return.

"Come on then. Time to go."

"Yes."

And I let myself be pulled onto my feet and steered towards the door. As he reached for the handle, he paused a little and then I felt warm soft lips brush against my own, as gently as moth's wings.

"Thank you," he whispered, the sound barely louder than my beating heart, and I kissed him back just as gently, feeling happier now, knowing he meant it this time. And then he opened the door.

We slipped back into the room as though we had never left. The dance, or another just like it, was still in progress. Hobbits pirouetting and twirling like reels on a spinning wheel, and the fiddlers sawing away fit to burst, and Paladin holding forth at loud and long length about some matter important enough to need many wide and expansive hand gestures. It could have been any happy celebratory occasion, of which hobbits have many, and if I happened to notice Merry's glance linger a little on the hobbit of the hour, as he whirled his new partner around, well, who could blame him? He was the Best Hobbit, after all. And he was expected to look after the groom.

Then I looked at Merry again, and this time happened to catch him looking at me, and we both smiled. And that felt different.

He leaned over then – and surely it was my own imagination that made me feel conspiratorial? – and spoke loud enough to be heard above the noise, "As it happens, Freddy, I don't think that I've brought a Yule gift here for you or 'Stella. Most remiss of me really." He paused and I wondered if I looked as nervous as he did. "So I was wondering if you might allow me to call on you at Budgeford some time in the next few days? If it would be convenient."

And I felt like punching him on the arm for the ridiculousness of his formality, after everything we'd just shared, but of course, I didn't. Formality was his refuge, from things too important to trivialise, I hoped, and at his words I felt my throat close, and my heart leap in panic. This was more than I had been expecting. In fact, I'm not sure that I had expected anything at all, and I wondered…

But it seemed silence was to be my refuge, for I found I couldn't speak. Instead, I looked at him, my friend whom I had tried to help, and who had helped me in return, and I slowly nodded. For it seemed that for once I had been right, change was in the air, and my uncertainty in this precarious new world seemed both headily wonderful, and utterly terrifying.

Merry smiled again, a sweet and poignant thing, at least to me, and turned back to the crowd. I blindly looked away as I tried to order my scattered thoughts, and found my gaze drawn once more to the Yule log in its place of honour by the fire, all wreathed around in festive greenery. And it occurred to me then that I had yet to make my good luck wish this year, that a sprig of holly was still mine for the taking, if I desired it, if I dared. I thought about what should I wish for, and found my heart was beating fast. I wasn't at all sure if I deserved such a hope, but I could not deny that I wanted to do this, as ridiculous as it seemed. And yet fortunes were such chancy things. To trust anything to their whim seemed to me foolhardy at best, nearly dangerous at worst.

And yet almost without my willing it, I found myself walking to the fireplace and taking a sprig of holly from the mantelpiece. I twirled it in my fingers, as I had seen Merry do – oh, it seemed a lifetime ago – and then before I thought any more I quickly tucked it beneath the log, my hands shaking a little, and the other leaves there pricking at my fingers in my haste. What is life without a little danger, after all? We had faced enough of it in the last years, and our own special monsters, that a little more would only have good company to keep. Good company. Yes, that's right. And I knew I should hold on to that thought tightly, new and uncertain as it was. For perhaps there was something to wish for, this year, after all. Perhaps there was indeed.


End file.
